


Pendrelvis

by terma_archivist



Category: The X-Files
Genre: First Time, Humor, M/M, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2000-01-01
Updated: 2000-01-01
Packaged: 2021-03-07 23:47:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,734
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26536054
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/terma_archivist/pseuds/terma_archivist
Summary: First time story. Pendrell decides to change his image.
Relationships: Fox Mulder/Pendrell
Collections: TER/MA





	Pendrelvis

**Author's Note:**

> Note from alicettlg, the archivist: this story was originally archived at [TER/MA](https://fanlore.org/wiki/TER/MA) and was moved to the AO3 as part of the Open Doors project in 2019. I tried to reach out to all creators about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are the creator and would like to claim this work, please contact me using the e-mail address on [the TER/MA collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/terma/profile).

  
**Pendrelvis  
by Meri Lomelindi**

  
It was midnight, and Agent Pendrell was still hard at work in the lab when he suddenly thought to himself—You know what, Danny? Fuck this. He did indeed proceed to fuck something, but we'll get to that later in the story. In the meantime, Agent Pendrell wasn't near anything even remotely fuckable, and he was decidedly outraged by the turn that his life had taken in the past, oh, thirty years or so, though he'd just begun to recognize this vital fact. 

Raking a hand through the mop of carrot tresses that perched atop his head, Pendrell glanced down at his uniform. Ye gods, it was disgusting—and a sudden impulse had him peeling the lab coat off in one fluid motion. That left the khakis and his horrid, sterilized white shirt. The buttons fumbled a bit under his shaking fingers—this revelation of his was quite disconcerting—but he wriggled out of it and flung the offending fabric into a corner. Which corner he didn't much care, though if he hadn't been absolutely without-a-doubt positive that the chinchilla from the Mayer case was dead he'd have sworn that he heard it emit a hoot of indignation. 

"Now," said Agent Pendrell to the air, to give himself a boost in courage of which he was in dire need, "we shall get down to business." 

Eyes glinting, boyish jaw clenched with his new sense of purpose, Pendrell stalked over to the lockers. He needed something—hum—black. Yes, black. And Quincy had given Pendrell a copy of his key in case he should forget something.. Pendrell rummaged eagerly.. 

And emerged with a sigh of contentment, something rough and ebony clutched in his hand. "Ah, leather," he murmured, worshipfully, as he donned the jacket. 

Another small journey and he was back in the bowels of the lab, sans all indications that he worked there, impish nose all wrinkled up at the smell of disinfectant that he'd never really noticed before; or, rather, never marked as unpleasant. In the past, the monotony had been soothing, the never-changing scent of freshness and sterility. 

Sterile. Pendrell was sterile; he'd been that way, felt that way, for a long time. But that dark, virile version of himself was not irretrievable, he thought. No, indeed—tendrils of it were already threading their way through his consciousness, tossing aside his doubts and fears and idle complacency like so much rotten fruit, giving way to optimism and determination. No longer, thought Pendrell, will I be a prisoner of the perceptions of others! No longer will I be relegated to a black-and-white view of my personality simply because of my occupation! No longer will I wallow in the mires of indecision! I shall take a stand against society's misguided notion of gender identity! I am a new man! 

But he was more than just a new man; he was the incarnation, the new, improved version of an old man. Yes, Pendrell finally decided, he was Elvis. Elvis in his dark leather with his impossibly rich, velvety voice - during the chubby years, maybe—and he would vanish into thin air, just like Elvis. They would all sit and wonder if he was still alive. Moistening his hands in the sink, he slicked his hair back and paced to and fro, in between the lab tables. When he left, they'd say, "Pendrelvis has left the building." There would be the occasional Pendrelvis sighting, prompting exaggerated squeals from the secretaries. His face would be plastered all over the tabloids—disappearances give notoriety, after all. Perhaps even Mulder would regret poking fun at him, he thought, as he halted and began to practice his Elvis dance-routine. 

Pendrelvis, he chided. Pendrelvis. They'd peek in through the windows, trying to catch a glimpse of his classic visage. Only—the lab didn't have any windows, and no one was there to witness the thin sheen of sweat that beaded up on his forehead with the exertion of dancing. No one was nearby to notice and admire the hauntingly Elvislike gyration of his hips. Hell, there wasn't even any music.. 

So Pendrelvis turned on the radio and flicked it to one of the local oldies stations, hoping for the melodies of his royal ancestor. But there was his cruel luck again—he just caught the end of some girlie song. No Elvis. And the next thing they played was the Monster Mash. Go figure. 

The latest incarnation of Elvis, formerly known as Danny Pendrell, grabbed a broom from the closet in record time. He proceeded to twirl it around himself in intricate swirls as the music began, hips rocking, feet stomping, one hand waving wildly above his head. Pendrelvis even went so far as to sing along in his peculiar Pendrelvis accent. "I was working in my lab, late one night.." 

And then stopped dead in his tracks, broom clattering to the floor, as Mulder's shadow flitted along the doorway. The litheness of him stretched in a caricature across the frame of the door. Eyebrows quirked as his gaze fell upon the recently arrived Pendrelvis, his facial expression both startled and bemused. 

Somewhere, Pendrell howled in terror. 

But Pendrelvis had his arrogance to rely upon, the assurance that somewhere, hordes of screaming fans waited to pounce upon him, and so he merely flashed a toothy grin in Mulder's direction and resumed the dance, snatching up the broom and positioning it as if it was a guitar. 

Mulder's eyes left Pendrelvis and made their way around the lab, taking in the slightly dimmed lighting, the discarded clothing, the disgruntled chinchilla corpse, the blare of the radio and the flourish of Pendrelvis' black leather jacket. When they flickered back to Pendrelvis himself, the crinkle of his brow was speculative. 

"What's with the getup, Agent Pendrell?" he called over the music. 

In between rounds of, "da-da shoop wah-oo," Pendrelvis corrected him. "Pendrelvis, if you please." 

Now Mulder looked distinctly amused. His hand rose up halfheartedly, revealing the small vial clutched within it, and then dropped to his side as he set the vial down on a nearby counter and spoke. "I brought a sample for you to screen—for anything unusual, "he murmured in that flat Mulder-drone, but then he was looking Pendrelvis up and down and his smile was anything but monotonous, "but I think that can wait, as I've already -found- something quite unusual that warrants further investigation." 

Pendrelvis felt a heady rush of exhilaration despite the fact that Mulder wasn't exactly complimenting him, and as the music stopped he struck his best Elvis pose and drawled, "Hey, baby," before he could stop himself. Mulder was actually paying attention to him—noticing him—and he had to keep it that way for as long as possible. 

An actual guffaw rose, low from Mulder's throat, and he took several languid steps forward until he was practically breathing down Pendrelvis' neck. Commercials resounded from the radio, but his immediate situation caused him to ignore such minor nuisances. Pendrelvis was shriveling due to Mulder's close proximity, his confidence wavering, but something else arose to take its place. 

"Are you the wild thang tonight?" Mulder whispered into his ear and it tickled mercilessly. 

His throat knotted, but he managed to choke out a, "Yeah," and then he noticed that Mulder's long, sensitive fingers were trailing up and down his spine like spider's legs. Pendrell liked arachnids. Something with that many eyes couldn't be bad. 

"Do you want to -do- the wild thang?" It was an innocent inquiry from the guileless tone of Mulder's voice and Pendrell was frozen in place, staring blankly, uncomprehendingly as Mulder's lips approached and then applied pressure to his own. It didn't register at all when Mulder was divesting him of the clothing that he'd just put on less than a half hour earlier, but he did force out a strangled grunt when Mulder pushed him up against the lab table and it dug painfully into his back. 

"Oh, sorry," said Mulder breathlessly, and then he was gently leading Pendrell to an unused expanse of tiled floor and pressing him down against it in only his boxers and a pair of fluffy white socks. 

Realization dawned, finally. 

Mulder was planting rough, abundant kisses all over his face and neck while in the process of climbing on top of him, and Pendrell broke away just long enough to gasp, "I thought you and Scully—" 

Hazel eyes regarded him with mild exasperation, heavy-lidded, and the thick lashes fluttered seductively. "It's all in her imagination. I thought YOU and Scully—" 

"Oh," Pendrell shrugged as much as he could from within the confines of Mulder's embrace, "I was sublimating my desire for you and directing it toward a safer outlet." He paused to catch his breath, but not for long lest Mulder return to plundering his mouth. "Why'd you wait so long to, uh, proposition me.." 

It was Mulder's turn to shrug and gaze solemnly. "Didn't know you swung that way.." and he leaned down to nuzzle Pendrell's neck. 

"Holy fuck!" Pendrell groused suddenly, "All I had to do to get you to jump my bones was to put on a leather jacket?" 

"Well, the hair helped," Mulder supplied agreeably, and then he mussed it up with one hand while the other lingered on the hollow of his collarbone. Everything about him radiated experience. 

"Oh," Pendrell sighed, and then he couldn't speak because Mulder was aggressively shoving his tongue down his throat, and his last coherent thought was that he'd have to track down the King and thank him.. and ask him which way he swung.

The End 

* * *

Date: January 2000   
Contact: [email removed], feedback gets you pampered.   
Spoilers: none whatsoever.   
Rating: PG13—m/m slash (nothing explicit) and cursing.   
Class: Humor/Romance   
Pairing: Mulder/Pendrell (slash)   
Summary: First time story. Pendrell decides to change his image.   
Warning: Unlikely to have happened and very silly.   
Disclaimer: Mulder, Scully, Pendrell, and the episodes all belong to Fox, 1013, Chris Carter, and whatever else.. I'm not stealing them, I'm not making any money, and if you sued me all you'd get is my dog. And I love my dog. _sob_ Please let me keep him—he looks just like Queequeg...   
Disclaimer 2: Other people—famous people—wrote the songs that I use in here. No offense is intended by my cruel mistreatment of them.   
---


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